


Gotta photograph, picture of… & Other Everyone Else + Bonus Week Short Fic from the TGS Spring Challenge

by BourbonNeat



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Episode-centric, Established Relationship, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, James' Twitter Poetry, M/M, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, fest: TGS Spring Challenge 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonNeat/pseuds/BourbonNeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six unrelated truly random Top Gear drabbles, droubles and other short fic from Everyone Else Week + Bonus Days in the TGS Spring Challenge.</p><p>Ratings range from PG to R, pairings run the gamut from gen/friendship to Andy/Jeremy, J/J, OT3 and even Stiggy makes an appearance – it <i>was</i> Everyone Else Week + Bonus Days, after all. Both are indicated in the chapter title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gotta photograph, picture of… – Iain and James/Jeremy, R

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is fiction. It never happened and is not meant to imply anything about the people featured in the story. Complete unreality from a fanciful mind.

Iain May learned the dangers of taking photos at Top Gear wrap parties at roughly the same moment he learned that James May might not actually be adverse to all forms of touch.

Drunk off his arse to the point where his eyeballs had started to throb in time to the music, Iain decided to take a break from the noisy revelry in the hanger about 30 seconds into Richard’s more enthusiastic than on key rendition of _Rock of Ages_. Seeking someplace where the lights weren’t pounding so loudly and the sounds tasted less bright, he fled to the cool, dark emptiness of the Portakabin.

Cool and dark, yes, but not quite so empty as it turned out.

Iain could think of many words to describe what Jeremy had been doing on that much abused sofa. Teasing. Exploring. Caressing. Worshipping. But they all distinctly amounted to touching.

Before his sluggish brain could even fully process the input from his eyes, Iain’s camera was poised at the ready, seemingly of its own accord, as his finger reflexively pressed the shutter button – the working artist’s instinct for getting that elusive perfect shot under any circumstances still hard at work despite the amount of alcohol flooding his system. Perhaps even more impressive, however, was the fact that James and Jeremy were so wrapped up in one another – and probably nearly as drunk as Iain – that they never noticed him, not even when he fled the Portakabin muttering various apologies.

Now, in addition to a truly spectacular hangover, he had this photo. Iain wasn’t particularly into guys, but his artist’s eye recognized and appreciated beauty regardless of whether it titillated his personal preferences. And he had to admit there was something oddly gorgeous in the way the faint light through the window highlighted the line of Jeremy’s back as it curved down into a surprisingly firm arse, the way the shadows played across James’ face with his head thrown back and his eyes closed in ecstasy.

So what to do with the bloody thing? He would never dream of using it for anything. That would be grossly unethical and very much not his style even if they weren’t all good mates. But he couldn’t bring himself to delete it either. Ah well, Iain supposed there were a few good lessons he could take from this image. Knock, for one. Top Gear wrap parties were clearly best left undocumented, for another. And, if he did say so himself, that even when just this side of falling down drunk, he still had quite an eye.

Hmmm… Perhaps the boys would appreciate this as a Christmas present? Discretely given of course. He smiled at the thought of the picture James and Jeremy’s expressions would make upon opening such a gift, but only because laughing at this point might very well split his skull wide open.


	2. Words Both Said and Felt – Jeremy/Andy, PG-13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Brief hints at underage sex – Jeremy and Andy at Repton, basically, and it’s very, very fade to black.

They never said ‘I love you’ during their days at Repton, although in hindsight the sentiment was plainly true even as long ago as that. Early clandestine fumblings in the dark leading inexorably, deliciously, to more, they could excuse, explain. But ‘I love you’? Please. With the unshakable logic of teenaged boys, they knew that those were words for women and quiet, pasty faced boys with owlish glasses and inclinations toward poetry.

Instead, huddled under the duvet in beds far too narrow to comfortably accommodate them both, Jeremy and Andy shared the secret dreams in their hearts along with their bodies. Daft ideas. Impossible hopes. Thoughts they had never voiced aloud to another person. I want to be a race car driver. I want to tell stories, brilliant stories, stories that everyone in the world wants to hear. I want to do movie stunts and play with amazing gadgets like James Bond. I want to see everything, visit every single place on the map.

Now they are both much older and wiser men, even if they choose to act like anything but that more often than not, and they have said ‘I love you’ to one another many times. ‘I love you,’ ‘I need you,’ and much more besides, words that speak of adoration and commitment. Still, Jeremy looks back on their earliest days with fondness, the depth of their young feelings and the things they left unsaid amidst all of the secret things they did say, bowling him over every, single time.

It’s no wonder, really, that whenever he pulls one of the challenge cards from its gold envelope and reads that they’ll be racing around the track at the Monaco Grand Prix or building their own hovercraft, his heart flips a little in his chest. He knows exactly what Andy is telling him, because it’s the same thing he’s telling Andy whenever he suggests exotic new locations like Uganda, Turkey and Syria as they plan their next specials.

Saying I love you, it turns out, does not have to be restricted to just those three traditional words.


	3. In this time, give it to me easy – James/Jeremy/Richard, PG-13,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Warning for brief mention of Richard’s accident.

When he and Andy began recreating Top Gear in their own image, it was like first the hints of spring thaw after a long, bitter winter for Jeremy. He had quit old Top Gear out of boredom and a frustrated sense that it just wasn’t the proper fit for his talents, even if he didn’t have the faintest idea what might suit them better. It had been the right decision. But the months and years that followed were such a demoralizing malaise of more of the same, that even writing briefly stopped exciting him.

If the initial planning stages had been the thaw, then those first four series of new Top Gear were like the best of springs, filled with beginnings, discoveries and the blossoming of his friendships with first Richard, then James. Jeremy had never been happier or more creatively stimulated, and it only got better. As the show and all of their talents continued to mature and grow stronger, so did the friendships, Richard and James becoming more akin to two limbs essential to his ability to function, than two mates. It was like the most fantastic summer holiday imaginable. For years.

Autumn never really came. One terrible September day their perfect summer of an existence crashed to a halt right along with the Vampire. Winter had arrived again and, if possible, it was even crueler than his last. When it was all over and Richard returned to them, still pained, still healing, but undeniably still Richard, Jeremy thought with relief, ‘Well, that’s that then. I’ve lived through one of the most painful thing I can possibly imagine.”

But life kept trying to prove otherwise, almost in a sick echo of one of their films. Oh, look, another challenge! The producers say, your wife is leaving you. (Sadly, that was a challenge the others faced in their own ways not so very long after and, as it turned out, there was no one better way to recommend going about it.) Bloody hell, it’s the producers with another envelope! Every newspaper in the country hates you. Loudly.

Although Jeremy was warmed, as ever, by his friendships and the creative spark that still flared brightly at times, winter was brutal. And dragged on for years.

Eventually, almost inevitably when he stopped to think about it, James and Richard let their friendship evolve into something much deeper. He declined joining them time and again on the grounds that somehow he managed to destroy everything he touched with a hammer. But that didn’t stop him from aching for it, didn’t keep him from lashing out at times, sharp tongue unfair and hurting. Didn’t stop them from staying, either, and propping him up where they could.

When he finally let James and Richard take him to bed, it did not miraculously make everything better. Because this story, their story, was not some sort of fairy tale, despite its many fantastical elements. Controversy continued, troubles arose and words in print occasionally cut deep. But every time they came together, with every touch of hands and sigh, with every brush of lips and scrape of teeth, Jeremy was starting to feel the thaw again.

 

 


	4. Stig and the Romance of Motorcycle Maintenance – Stig/James, PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: All Little Honda poems are the work of James May’s tweeting fingers – but you all probably knew that already.

_I rode a Triumph 675,_

_I_ _drove an orange Zonda,_

_But_ _the inner temple of my heart_

_Is just for Little Honda._

The Stig lowered the hand he used as an antenna to beam the internet to the inside of his helmet, closed his eyes, and sighed. His whole body hummed with pleasure, a gesture that is significantly more literal for stiglykind than for human. James was tweeting more lovely odes to his Little Honda this evening.

He’d always known that these three strange, loud humans who drove with as much enthusiasm as The Stig, even if they couldn’t match his skill – and the quieter one who corralled them all and made them behave, a bit – loved cars with a deep, all consuming passion. If it were not so, then The Stig would not be here. It was as simple as that.

He had seen them adore cars and care for them, treat them with immense affection and, at times, when even The Stig had to admit the occasion warranted it, with disdain. He’d seen longing and desire, coddling, anger and mourning but, until very recently, he’d never seen one of them properly romance a vehicle. Oh, he’d seen Jeremy lick and fondle cars before, but that was straight up lust. The Stig both-heartedly approved of car lust, mind you, but it was not the same thing as romance at all. 

The Stig had underestimated the tall long-haired human with his bright blue eyes and infectious laugh. Clearly James was so much more than he seemed.

_I have a little Honda bike,_

_Of pistons it has one._

_One pot, one plug, one coil, one carb,_

_'Tis singularly fun._

The Stig sighed again. He had to admit that he was smitten, but clearly this human’s heart already belonged to another.

 


	5. Not the Johnny Jump Up – Gen Oz and James, PG-13

“Your health,” James toasted half-heartedly as he eyed the full mug of cider with skepticism. “Possibly not mine,” he muttered and slowly raised the amber liquid to his lips, trying desperately not to breathe in the hated aroma as he took a hesitant sip.

James’ blue eyes went wide in surprise and he took a larger sip. To his astonishment, the cider which now delighted his taste buds was not the cloying syrupy mess of his youth, the cider so horridly sweet that a teenaged James had once been certain he could feel sugar crystals coating his tongue along with the bile after he’d made himself violently ill from the stuff, nervously drinking far too much at a party.

“What do you think James?” The cider maker asked as Oz looked on, masking his concern for his friend with his usual smug smile.

“I think I could like it. It’s nice. It’s appley, but it’s also…”

It was also balanced – the sort of sweet tartness that came naturally from the apples themselves, set off by a fair bit of acid and an almost floral, green sort of flavor he couldn’t quite put a name to. James closed his eyes with pleasure and mentally added this new bit of knowledge to his list of discoveries with Oz.

Wine could be fun and far more so when enjoyed whenever the fancy struck him, instead of stuffy and reserved for special occasions. When enjoyed with a mate who understood, whisky could be philosophical without the dark despair of falling into one of his black dog moods. Champagne was still best served to other people, but gin could be improved further still with May-ish amounts of cardamom, and now cider – this cider at least – was no longer just for awkward, lovesick teenagers who had yet to learn any better.

James originally took on his various side projects out of personal interest, yes, but also to grow his career a bit outside of Top Gear, to show off his various other sides, lest he grow bored with his own presenting and the public right along with him. But, as it turned out, the growth had been a lot more personal, expanding his comfort zone and broadening his interests and his horizons in ways he hadn’t even known he needed. Not to mention the fact that, between Oz and Sim, he’d made two more close, lifelong friends – and that was not a sentiment James ever felt lightly.


	6. Duck Soup – Gen Andy & the TG3, PG

Andy shut his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temple, rubbing them in small, firm circles in a futile attempt to stave off the knot of pain he could already feel forming. Naturally, when he opened his eyes again, mechanics with puzzled expressions were still peering under the bonnets of two of the three hatchbacks they were supposed to be filming today. Right. Lukewarm hatchbacks, then. Definitely not hot.

The cars, however, were not Andy’s worst headache today. Nor was the non-metaphorical one that was starting to pound his skull. No, for the moment at least, that honor went to the three co-presenters cocking about impatiently on the track and getting in everyone’s way. Jeremy, James and Richard. He loved these men like brothers and respected them professionally, but there were times…

Andy took several deep, calming breaths and shook his head, a small smile beginning to play about the corners of his mouth as he remembered something he’d once read. It could always be worse, he told himself. Apparently the Marx Brothers’ antics could be so disruptive on set that their director had locks installed on the outsides of their dressing rooms so they be could safely locked away until they were needed on camera.

Hmmm…dressing rooms. Suddenly they didn’t seem like such a pointless luxury, after all. Now when was that next budget meeting again?


End file.
